
As we approach the doldrums of the fall season, my tortured brain churns with possible cures to head off the inevitable holiday blues.
So far, I've taken an important first step by putting my credit card under house arrest, as well as slapping a restraining order on the the home shopping network, amazon, and ebay. Yeah, put the pressure on the fat guy with the red suit to come through for a change...
Unfortunately, that isn't enough. I need a distraction, a slab of raw meat to divert the vultures away from me and my pocketbook. It is here that I pin my hopes on a leggy blond Heiress named after a famous European capital.
How many minutes has it been since Paris Hilton's last scandal? Too many, as far as I'm concerned.
Santa, if you exist, please, please let Paris rise up from her swampy netherworld and preoccupy the nation in slackjawed awe for the next few months. At least long enough for me to pay off my debts from last Christmas.
That way, I'm off the hook, the nation is entertained, and all is right with the world. I realize this is a tall (and leggy) order, but I've been a good boy and damn it, I deserve it.